


Suggestive Sensory Stimuli

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: In a very Mycroftian way, M/M, Mystrade Monday, Mystrade Monday Prompts, Nail Polish, Phone Sex, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Mycroft likes Greg's hands. Greg likes Mycroft's voice. A slow exploration of what they can do to each other.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 32
Kudos: 99
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions, Mystrade Holiday 2020





	1. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good uncle Greg let his nieces paint his nails. Mycroft is mesmerized.

The decreasing daylight hours meant that it had gotten dim early in the evening. Mycroft made a mental note to thank his driver for finding them a spot underneath a streetlight, because it made his sudden presence at the crime scene all the more dramatic. That amused him, and he needed every bit of entertainment he could get, as everything else about the situation was enervating, repetitive, stultifying, and ultimately boring. 

He wondered, briefly, if he should simply stop showing up whenever Sherlock threatened to get himself into increasing legal trouble. But habits became such because routine was comfortable. He daren't risk Sherlock finding the lack of his presence the final block pulled from the swaying tower, leading to collapse. The foundations had been carefully reassembled, but stability was never guaranteed. 

Mycroft peered through the car window. Instead of Sherlock stalking towards his black sedan, he noted that the Detective Inspector was jogging over. Mycroft opened the door, extending a leg, and perfectly timing the rise to his full height just as Lestrade arrived. 

"Mr. Holmes!" The detective inspector smiled at him, running a hand through his silvered hair in an unconscious gesture. 

Mycroft was about to respond, just as propriety required, when his brain took in what he'd seen. Lestrade's fingers were tipped with a rainbow of colours, one deep purple, one light pink, one red, one sparkled silver, and one... green? Mycroft shut his mouth abruptly and looked down at the man's hands. 

Lestrade had noticed his reaction. The DI grinned, ducking his head, and held out his hands, palms down, fingers spread. "Yeah, I know, not exactly regulation. The nieces needed more space to experiment. They'd gotten this holiday calendar with these tiny bottles of nail polish, and who's going to tell an eight-year-old not to open all the windows at once?"

Greg paused, moving his hands around slightly as the shades flashed in the streetlight. "It's a bit different from the girls of our day, innit? They use a lot more colours now. Of course, that was the afternoon I got called in unexpectedly. The younger staff didn't look twice, though." 

Mycroft couldn't take his eyes off the gamut of tones decorating those firm, solid hands. The colours surprisingly didn't seem out of place. Instead, they drew attention to Lestrade's presence, his confidence, as every movement of his thick fingers was highlighted. Mycroft felt his throat move as he swallowed. He, for once, had no idea what to say. 

As the silence stretched on, Greg cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Sorry for rabbiting on. Nothing you'd need to know about. So... why are you here? Anything I can assist?" 

Mycroft responded with his own "hrm" before again finding his voice. "No, Detective Inspector, I was here to prevent my brother from once again hoisting himself via his own petard..." Mycroft trailed off as he looked around and realized that Sherlock was no longer anywhere to be seen. "... but he seems to have departed the scene. I see I made a mistake." How unlike him to not notice! He straightened up, pulling his posture to the correct angle, taking comfort in restoring things to their proper position. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes from drifting back to the chance of seeing another colour on Lestrade's fingertips, though. 

The DI laughed. "How unlike you to be caught out, Mr. Holmes. Didn't realize a bit of nail colour would be so distracting." 

"It suits you surprisingly well, Lestrade." Mycroft admitted. 

"I'd forgotten how it was like. Makes me more conscious of my hands." Greg pulled them out of his pockets, stretching and folding his fingers in sequence. "Used to slap on a bit when I played guitar, but that was for the stage. Quite a while ago now." He watched Mycroft's eyes follow the motions of his hands, as though nearly mesmerized. 

Greg chuckled and suddenly snapped his fingers. Mycroft made a small noise that he wouldn't allow to be called a squawk, and shuddered, briefly, as though affronted. "Caught you." 

"Yes, well, apologies." Mycroft made a face that pretended to smile but better resembled sucking a lemon. "I must be going. I'm sure you have plenty you can accomplish without my brother's distractions." He turned back towards the car. 

Greg reached out, placing his hand on Mycroft's sleeve to hold him in place, gently. "No need to run off, Mycroft." He ran his hand down the man's arm, until he could take his hand. Folding his fingers, he looked at his nails against the back of Mycroft's hand, observing them against the taller man's paler complexion. "They look even better on you," he noted, offhandedly, as a passing observation. 

Mycroft stood quietly in place, blinking rapidly for a moment. Although he appeared frozen, his mind was racing through interpretations and possibilities. Many of which involved seeing those colours, and the fingers they decorated, against other bits of his skin. 

He'd left it too long. Lestrade was clearly nervous, dropping their connection as he let go and stepped back. "'M sorry, Mr. Holmes. Not appropriate. Of course you have much more you need to be doing. I'd better be getting back to work." 

Mycroft made his decision. "On the contrary, Greg. It seems that you have discovered a previously unknown method of hypnosis, one capable of distracting one of the government's most significant advisors." He cleared his throat and smiled, self-consciously. "I have an obligation to vet that you are capable of using it responsibly. This requires more tests of your manual dexterity." He looked into Greg's deep brown eyes. "Such as using fine silverware. Might you happen to be free for dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is picking up an older Mystrade Monday prompt, from a couple of months ago, "I made a mistake," in combination with a plot bunny from Paia:
> 
> "Greg's nieces paint his fingernails while he's babysitting. He promises to leave it on for a day, but he wasn't expecting to be called to Mycroft's office for a last-minute meeting about Sherlock's latest nonsense."
> 
> My thanks to them both for the inspiration.


	2. Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's voice does things to Greg.

Greg owed his nieces really super Christmas presents this year. He'd been vaguely embarrassed, that night, to run into work with his nails painted, but soon enough he forgot about his hands, subsumed, as always, into the case. He had no idea that odd bit of good uncle-ing was what would finally attract Mycroft's attention. 

At that first dinner, Greg had fun seeing how quickly he could, by fiddling with his fork, cause Mycroft to lose track of his thoughts, chuckling when the usually precise man stuttered to a stop in the middle of a sentence. Since then, over the past couple of weeks, they'd managed to meet a handful more times, for coffee or a drink. 

The problem was how Mycroft chose to make these dates. Sherlock, once upon a time, had ranted about how Mycroft hated to text and preferred to talk. Greg, if he heard that now, would have a hard time stopping himself from responding, "In my case, you really don't want to know why, sunshine." 

Greg had quickly realized he had a thing for that posh purr. Mycroft's voice went straight to his cock. Didn't matter what he was saying, even. There was just something about his voice, his vocabulary, his enunciation... it all _really_ worked for him. So quickly that if he wasn't careful, he got light-headed as his blood rushed south. 

He unfortunately found that out when they were making their third date, and Greg had taken the call while waiting for essential personnel to arrive at a crime scene. Thankfully, he had been standing next to his car, so he had something stable to lean on. 

Even more unfortunately, Greg suspected that Mycroft had seen him on CCTV during that call. He must have noticed his eyes closing and his rapid breathing, and the bastard figured out why. Because shortly thereafter, Mycroft began calling him more frequently, at random times, and for what sometimes seemed like manufactured reasons. 

The conversation might be brief, even business-like, if needed, but whenever Greg heard the sound of that voice, purring in his ear... it was as though he was a baby or a dog. It didn't matter what was said, all that mattered was the tone. And his reaction, which was far from child-like. 

Now, every time Greg saw "blocked number" flash across his mobile, he started to get excited. It was near-Pavlovian. He'd learned to avoid answering unless he was able to find a private place and had a spare ten minutes after in which to calm down. He'd never been more thankful for his overcoat. 

Greg suspected Mycroft was toying with him. He knew the proper git sometimes preferred old-fashioned phrasing, but who really said "would you care to come out with me?" unless they wanted to be sure he heard the word "come"? He'd also been invited for a "stiff drink" to unwind. It was the most polite phone sex he'd ever had, and he hoped it wasn't all one-sided. 

Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. Greg's mobile rang, and checking the display, he found a quiet place and answered. Time to screw up his courage and take this to a head. Great, now he was doing it to himself. He shook himself, mentally, and answered the call, "Hi, Mycroft." 

"Greetings, Gregory." Mycroft had begun using his full name so he could draw out the syllables. Another hint that he knew what he was doing to Greg. Detective, him. 

"How is your evening progressing?" the man continued, in low, sultry tones. 

"Alright, enough. I know you're doing this on purpose." 

"Whatever do you mean?" 

"Don't play coy with me, Mycroft. You know what you're doing to me. Teasing me. Which is fine, but let's be honest with each other." 

"Well. Perhaps. But that makes this call all the more unfortunate. I wanted to let you know that I will be going overseas and under radio silence. I didn't want you to be concerned, given how frequently we have been ... talking recently." 

Greg's heart fell. Well, that was one way to prevent him getting excited. "Can you say when you'll be back?" 

"I am afraid not. I will contact you as soon as I possibly can, but the outcome is not yet predictable." 

"Shame. I know it's early days yet, but I was hoping we could spend some holiday time together." 

"I will do my best, Gregory."

"Just take care of yourself, please." 

"Most assuredly, and the same goes for you. Farewell." Mycroft rang off. 

It wasn't until three days later that Greg felt the absence getting to him. Until then, he'd been able to bury himself in work, but when he noticed most of his team avoiding him unless necessary, he realized he'd probably been more snappish than he should with them. 

It was that night, sitting at home trying to shake off his bad mood, that he got the text. The audio text. The audio of Mycroft speaking, to him, obviously late at night, as his voice was a bit rougher, yet subdued, as though they were whispering together under the covers. "Hello, Gregory. I thought you'd like to know how much I miss talking to you. Of hearing your reactions. How much I admire your directness. You were right, of course. It thrilled me to know that I could affect you. I hope this little gift can tide you over. I expect to return this Friday, and I would very much like to see you in person, if you are available." 

Greg shivered. He set down the phone while he got ready for bed, then, snuggled down in the covers, took it up again to replay while he thought about his response. 

After two more plays, he left a message in return, making his voice as low and growly as he could. "I'm always willing to wait for you. Let's get together somewhere private. You know what you can do to me, but I think it's time we touched."


End file.
